Page 34 of Hunted to Be Mine
Selina
I watched twilight settle over Munich through the frosted window of the bakery. Snow had begun to fall, not the heavy, smothering kind, but delicate flakes that drifted through the fading light. Across the street, Specter emerged from a small grocery, two canvas bags in his left hand, his right conspicuously empty.
Always ready,even here.
He caught my eye through the glass and nodded once. The signal to go.
I clutched my paper bag of still-warm pastries and stepped outside.The cold air bit at my lungs. Specter fell into step beside me, close enough that our shoulders occasionally brushed. Anyone watching would see a couple heading home after errands. No one would notice his constant scan of rooftops, the way he used the glass to watch our backs, how he noted each passing car.
“You buying for an army?” He tipped his chin toward my overloaded bags.
“I wasn’t sure what you liked.” I shifted the weight, refusing to admit they were heavy. “Men typically eat more than women, and you need to heal. Plus, I don’t know how long we’ll be here.”
His focus never rested. Rooftops. Windows. Faces. His voice stayed easy, even warm.
“Protein bars and coffee. Standard operative diet.”
“That’s not food, that’s fuel.” The paper bag from the bakery rustled as I readjusted my grip. “Human beings need actual nutrition.”
“Grass-fed iguana meat with fermented tree bark.” His mouth quirked up. “Oblivion nutritionists swear by it.”
I laughed before I caught myself. “Now you’re just being ridiculous.”
“Cobra venom in small doses. Builds immunity and adds flavor to oatmeal.”
I nearly stumbled on the cobblestones. “You’re making that up.”
“Am I?” His expression remained deadpan, though amusement edged his expression.
“Fine. Then these donuts are all mine.” I raised the bakery bag, its paper still warm against my fingers.
He tracked a sleek black sedan that slowed as it passed us. “Cruel tactics, Doctor. I might have to requisition at least one for national security purposes.”
A quick sound escaped me, thin in the cold. When was the last time I’d genuinely laughed? Before the attack on the facility, certainly. Maybe long before that.
Streetlamps clicked on, laying shallow pools of light on the cobbles. Flakes crossed the glow and flashed. Beautiful, a little unreal.
And dangerous.
Because the black vehicle had just circled the block, passing us again.
“Don’t react,” he said, casual on the surface, while the body beside me tightened. “Keep talking, keep smiling. Tell me about the pastries.”
I slowed my breathing, trying to ignore the spark of adrenaline. “There’s a chocolate one filled with cream that looks decadent. And something with cinnamon the woman called ‘snowballs’ that seemed appropriate, given the weather.”
He leaned closer as if I’d said something amusing. Warm breath warmed my ear. “We’re going to turn left at the next corner. If the car follows, we’ll know it’s surveillance.”
“And if it is?” My voice remained steady, but my pulse hammered in my throat.
“Then we’ll lose them.” His hand found the small of my back, guiding me around the corner. The touch wasn’t only tactical.
“How?” I kept my voice low. “How?”
“First rule of counter-surveillance: never look directly at what you’re watching.” He shifted the grocery bags, using the movement to check behind us in the reflection of a darkened shop window. “Use reflections, peripheral vision. Change pace unexpectedly. Watch for patterns: the same face appearing twice, vehicles that don’t belong.”
The analyst in me clicked in. “Like our black car.”
He inclined his head, his hand still at my back. “You’re a quick study, Doctor.”
